


One Call Away

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sam Knew Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Navigating life is hard. Sam and Dean lose their mother, and their father loses his mind. But in the darkness, there’s one friend who has always been there, just one call away.





	1. That One Weird Kid

**Author's Note:**

> For an Anon who prompted Puth’s “One Call Away” + Sastiel...My pleasure, Anon. Hope you like!
> 
> ~Posing

John shook his head a lot when the Gratis kid was around.

Mary smirked at him. “What now?”

He shrugged. “He’s weird.”

She went back to her paperwork. “He’s a good kid. He’s an angel.”

“Weird.”

She gave him a sigh. “So? He’s far better than that Ruby brat Sam was hanging out with at the preschool. I didn’t like her mother at all.”

“Lilith was a witch.”

“And Ruby will be one too when she grows up. I’m a good judge of character, John. Leave little Cas alone.”

John was shaking his head again. “Who names their kid Castile anyway?”

“It’s Castiel, and apparently Chuck Gratis does.”

“He’s weird too.”

“Shh. He’s just a little eccentric. He’s a writer.”

John raised an eyebrow that she deliberately did not acknowledge. “That’s another thing. Dean says the kid doesn’t do anything but draw. That his great ambition is to be an artist. If Sam is serious about being a doctor, he needs to start hanging out with a higher caliber of kid.”

“They’re seven, John. For all we know, Sam will be the artist, and Cas will be a doctor.”

“Sam has said he’s going to be a doctor since he was old enough to talk.”

“Yeah. And a few weeks ago, he said he also wanted to be a magician.”

Finally, John began to smile. “Yeah. But that’s a hobby,” he laughed.

Mary giggled back. “He said he was going to be the next Jay Vernon. I didn’t even know who that was. Dean said Sam researched all of the best stage magicians. Quote, because he’s a nerd like that,” she added dryly.

John snorted. “That kid is going to be something, Mary. I don’t even care what. I just don’t want him hanging out with a weird artsy kid who’s going to drag him down.”

She tapped on her laptop keyboard for a moment, then spoke again without looking up. “And Dean?”

“Dean’s fine. He’s more like me. He’s going to be fine.”

“He’s smart too, you know.”

“Sure. I know. He’s just a little simpler. You know? Like me. Sam’s complicated.”

Mary shook her own head as John wandered out of the kitchen with a beer. “Not that complicated,” she murmured to herself. “And Dean isn’t as simple as you think. And neither are you, John Winchester.”

Sam was laughing outside, and she basked in the sound floating in through the open window. She could hear the neighbor kid’s soft voice answering, and she smiled. Castiel was weird, no doubt. But he brought out the sunshine in Sam, and for that, Mary loved him.

Dean walked into the kitchen to grab the leftover pie from the counter. As he unwrapped it, Mary watched him. “You okay, baby?”

The boy looked surprised. “What? Yeah. Is it okay if I have this?”

She knew she should probably say no. Dean would live on pie and cheeseburgers if she let him. But just like Sam’s laugh, Dean’s sheer joy in finding a slice of pie available just made Mary happy. “Yeah. Just promise you’ll eat your dinner later.”

“Mom,” he teased as he stabbed a fork into the pie tin without bothering with a plate. “It’s roast night. No way am I not going to eat my dinner. I’ll eat Sammy’s too if you let me.”

She laughed. “That poor kid. He’s not going to grow to be more than five feet if he’s got to compete with you for food!”

Dean shrugged, and spoke through his mouthful. “He’s picky. He’s a picky runt. That ain’t my fault.”

“Don’t use ain’t. And stop calling your brother a runt.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Cas and me will look out for him. It won’t matter that he’s little. Nobody’s going to mess with him.”

She smiled at him. “I know, baby. You’re a good big brother.”

“I’m awesome,” he confirmed. Then he pointed at her work with his fork. “You need help? I can do something.”

A flush of fondness warmed her as she looked at those big green eyes. That child would do anything at all for her, or for his kid brother. “I’m good, Dean. Thank you. You should take your homework out on the porch with the other boys.”

He shrugged, and wandered out of the room with the same restless aimlessness that his father had. She would have to remind him again Sunday morning to do that homework. But that was all right. Maybe Dean wouldn’t be a doctor, but whatever he was, he would be just as important as whatever Sam turned out to be. Mary knew her boys. One day, they would be good men, and that’s all she needed.

***

“You know, if you paid attention in class, you two would be able to do this without help,” Sam complained.

Castiel snickered, but Dean glared at him crossly. “Just give me the damn equation. I can work it out fine if I know which formula to use.”

“And I’m saying, if you didn’t sleep in your class and if Cas wouldn’t spend his class doodling and daydreaming, you would already know which formula to use. And I’m not going to be there on the tests to help either of you! So if you’re not going to listen to the teachers, you better at least listen to me!”

He could feel that Dean was done with tonight’s lecture. He patted Sam’s arm. “I think you should probably just give him the right formula. I’m sure he will listen next time you try to explain it.”

Sam was glowering back at his brother, but he sighed finally. “Fine. So Carbon, Hydrogen and Oxygen-“

“Alcohol. No, wait. Acetic acid.”

Castiel cringed.

“Dude! It depends on the subscript! This is glucose! How do you still not get that?”

“Cas, I’m going to kill him.”

Their friend hurried to the rescue, as he often did to prevent fratricide. He began to sketch rapidly on his notebook. “Look, Dean. So, this is an apple pie. This is apple cobbler. This is apple strudel like you got last time we went out with my dad. All have apples. Different amounts. Right? You can make lots of different stuff out of the same ingredients.”

“I’m not a moron,” Dean grumbled. Then he sighed. “But now I am hungry. I’m going to go make some sandwiches. You guys want some?”

Castiel smiled at him sympathetically. Dean always left to feed them when he got frustrated with chemistry or math. Cooking and providing for the other boys made him feel like he was contributing, like they weren’t all crowded in to study just for his benefit. The guidance counselor had said Dean wasn’t going to graduate on time unless he could pass chemistry. He had failed it twice already. Dean, though four years older than Sam, had been held back in kindergarten, then Sam had been pushed ahead a year in math and science when he was seven. So that was a sore point for Dean, especially since Sam had already passed several of the classes Dean had failed. The lacrosse coach and the wrestling coach had told him he couldn’t compete until he had his science and math grades up to Cs again. Dean had been so angry and humiliated that he had punched Gordon Walker when the jerk had called him stupid one too many times during their weight training class. Now Dean was out of school for two days’ suspension, and he had told Castiel he had already looked into dropping out and getting his GED but his dad hadn’t even let him get a full sentence out before he had put that idea to rest with a hard slap to the face and a sharp word. John was drunk a lot these days.

“Put tomato on mine,” Sam called.

“I know,” Dean growled back.

Sam sighed at Castiel. “He’s going to fail this test.”

“He will be okay. Might not ace it, but he won’t fail.”

Hazel greens gazed at his friend in amazement. “You will never lose faith in my brother, no matter how many times he screws up.”

Castiel smiled softly down at his chemistry notebook, which was covered in more sketches and cartoons than equations. “Sam, since you two lost your mom, Dean has struggled to navigate life. That doesn’t make him a bad person. Don’t give up on him now. One day you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Sam nodded. “I guess. I just wish he would think a little bit about what she would want. Spending three years on basic chemistry isn’t making her proud.”

“Dean is more than his chemistry grade, Sam. You know that, and so did your mom.”

“Yeah, okay. But he doesn’t have to take it out on me just because I’m better at it than him.”

“No,” Castiel acknowledged thoughtfully. “But you can be more patient when he’s clearly already embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed! Dean’s shameless! And when am I not patient?”

He couldn’t help the smile now.

Sam Winchester was the light in Castiel’s life. He had been since they were in kindergarten. Sam had been K4 and Castiel had been K5, the year Dean was in first grade. He remembered going home after that first week and telling his father all about the shy, small, brave boy.

“He’s nice, and he didn’t let the other boy pick on me.”

Chuck had frowned at that. “Pick on you? Who tried to pick on you?”

“Nobody, after Sam and his big brother took care of it. I’m just weird.”

“You’re not weird, Cas. You’re special and you’re creative.”

“I think that’s the same as weird, Dad.”

His father had shrugged. “Then we are both weird.”

Castiel nodded. “Right. But, Dad, Sam is so nice. Do you think it would be okay if we got married one day?”

Chuck shrugged again, slower this time. “Why not? But you’ve got a lot of time to worry about that. I don’t think they let kindergarten kids get married.”

Castiel thought on this hard. Then he spoke again, very seriously. “Okay. I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet either. I should probably know more things. Like how to do money.”

“Doing money is important. And also playing. You have a lot of playing to do before you get married.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “But if I play with Sam, I can make him happy, and I can like that he’s nice, and he always listens to the teacher real good, and then I can marry him when we get to fourth grade. Or maybe ninth. Are there nine grades?”

Chuck had laughed. “At least.”

“Then I’ll marry him in ninth grade. I’ll know money by then, and we can play a lot while we wait for that to start.”

“You’re a good kid, Cas. I’m sure Sam is too. But let’s just work on being friends first, okay?”

“Yeah,” he mused. “That’s probably better than being married anyway.”

“Sometimes,” Chuck agreed solemnly. “Especially in elementary school.”

But Castiel had never been able, even all these years later, to imagine his future without Sam. Even when they got older, and he began playing lacrosse, and became best friends to Dean, and Sam drifted away at times, Castiel still saw himself as complete only when Sam was near.

And for his part, Sam never drifted far. He was always most comfortable, most himself, with Dean and Castiel.

Castiel was a junior in high school, Sam a sophomore. It was two years past his silly plan to marry the other boy. Yet the feeling that they were two halves of a whole heart had never faded for Castiel.

“You told him you can’t believe he still doesn’t get isotopes,” Castiel pointed out gently.

Sam scoffed. “I can’t! He’s had three teachers and me explain it to him!”

“Sam, he’s patient with you when you ask for help with girls,” he said, and he dropped his gaze back to his notebook. He began to sketch idly.

“No. He tells me I’m awkward.”

“Some girls like that.”

Sam began to laugh. He lay back on the carpet of Dean’s room and stretched. “I love that you don’t try to tell me I’m not awkward. Just that it’s okay.”

Castiel made his eyes stay focused on his pen, and not on the way Sam’s shirt lifted to show a tiny sliver of his hip. “Lots of girls like you, Sam. You’re just the dog that doesn’t know what to do when you catch the car, that’s all.”

Laughter tumbled out of the boy’s chest. “Shut up! I am not. I’m just shy. You know that. I kissed Amy, didn’t I?”

Heartache ate through his chest, gnawing mercilessly at his ability to smile. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Could have done more if her mom didn’t make them move towns. She was nice. I liked Amy.”

The sketch began to take on a darker tone. What had begun as a simple dog was becoming something sinister. “She was nice,” he repeated blandly.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Soon, we’ll be off at college, right? When I graduate, we’re going to move to California, and get out of this stuffy town. You and me and Dean.”

The fantasy had so many holes in it that Castiel couldn’t believe Sam still thought it was ever going to happen. But he wanted it too, with all his lonely heart, and so he nodded as always. “I’ll get you out, Sam,” he promised in a hoarse voice. “Dean and I aren’t going to leave you behind.”

So it shattered his heart entirely when, three semesters later, he had to tell Sam goodbye.

Seeing the tears roll down the younger boy’s face, feeling the glare of betrayal, broke Castiel in ways he never knew he could break. “That’s it? After telling me all these years-“

“Sam-“

“No! Shut up! After telling me all these years that you were going to wait for me, now you’re just jetting off. Perfect. That’s just perfect.”

Castiel was having trouble taking a full breath. But he made himself speak. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I really am. But that was never going to happen!”

“First Dean goes into the Marines. Left me with Dad! Now you!”

“Sam, I’m not doing this to hurt you! I don’t want to do this at all!” And he had never said truer words. He wanted to sit on Sam’s porch for another twelve months, until Sam had graduated, and then follow him to the ends of the earth. But that wasn’t an option. And he had to go before it killed him.

“But you are,” Sam cried out. He began to rub his right thumb into his left hand, a habit he had picked up somewhere along the line, and Castiel recognized it as Sam’s way of trying to ground himself. Trying to calm his rising fear.

“I have to. Look. If June comes, and you still want to...if you want to…” If he wanted Castiel. Blue eyes closed in a flinch. “But you won’t. Sam, it’s never been about being with me. It’s about not being alone with your dad. And I get that! John was a good man before your mom...He was scary as hell, and overprotective, but he was a good man. But he’s not the same person anymore. Sam, I wish I could just take you away from all this-“

“Then why don’t you?”

He had thought his heart had been ripped apart entirely. But there was still something left for Sam to tear out, evidently. “You’re sixteen, Sam! What am I going to do? Kidnap you?”

The tears were relentless. “I’ll run away! I don’t care about school!”

The artist nearly laughed. “Yeah you do. Sam, stop. Please. Dean will be home in a few weeks to visit. And I won’t be that far. But, Sam, I’ve got to go to school, and I’ve got to go now.” Because if he didn’t, he would spend the rest of his life drowning in love for a boy who didn’t love him.

Sam sniffed. “I hate you for this.” Then he shook his head. “No, you know what? I understand this. What I don’t understand is how you could promise me all along that we would get out of this town together, knowing the whole time that you were going to leave the minute you graduated! And that’s what I hate you for. Not for leaving me. For promising you wouldn’t.”

Castiel nodded sadly. “That’s fair.”

Sam glowered at him. “Go. If you’re going, then go.”

He took a step back. “I am sorry, Sam. I wish things could be different.” God, how he wished that! “Thank you for everything you’ve ever...Take care of yourself, Sam. And I know you hate me. But if you ever need me...I’m only one call away.”

Sam did not answer.


	2. The Father and The Son

Mary’s death had been an accident. Dean knew that. But when he had nightmares, he was always failing to save her from demons. And he couldn’t talk to Sam about this. He had to be stronger for Sam. On these nights, Castiel was always his lifeline.

Castiel untangled himself from his lover, who snored at him in irritation. He drew his hand down his face, and forced himself out of the bed to take the call. “Dean,” he said in an even deeper voice than usual.

“Hey. Hey, Cas. Uh, you got a minute?”

He yawned as quietly as he could, and glanced back at the handsome man in his bed. Then he nodded and slipped out of the room. “You know I’m always glad to hear from you. What do you need?”

“Nothing. No, I’m just checking on you, you know.”

Castiel did not bother pointing out that, at least in his time zone, it was three in the morning. He wasn’t sure what that made it on Dean’s end. That required math that required being truly awake. Besides, it didn’t matter. Dean had clearly had what Castiel had long thought of as a night-Mary, and had to check on his people in order to get back to sleep. “I’m good, Dean. Really good.”

“I know it’s late, man. I’m sorry. I was just...thinking of us. You know? You, me and Sam.”

A dull ache that had never healed became a stinging pain at the mere mention of Dean’s brother. “I think of that often too,” he admitted.

“When Sam and me...when we lost...Anyway, I’ll never forget you being there for us. You’re a good friend.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll always regret that Sam doesn’t see it that way. How is he?” The desperation for any news about the young man was humiliating, but he had to ask.

“He’s still a stubborn little shit. Still same old Sam.”

Castiel sighed. “So still perfect.”

“Cas? You’re moving on, right? It’s been six months.”

“Seven.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got a guy at my place right now.”

Dean sounded surprised. “Yeah? Good for you, man! Somebody you’re gonna see again?”

Somebody who was everything Castiel should want, and yet who would never be what he needed. Somebody who couldn’t be Sam. “I don’t know yet,” he murmured. “But you didn’t answer me. How’s Sam?”

“He’s fine, Cas. He and Dad are mostly just ignoring one another so far as I can tell. Cas, you did the right thing, man.”

“Did I?” He shook his head and stared out his window into the dark night. “I would have waited forever, Dean.”

“It wasn’t right for him to ask you to. And if you had...Dad would have killed you. If he had any evidence that you loved my little brother, he would have torn you apart, and had you arrested if there was anything left of you. I told you. The minute you were eighteen, he would have-“

“I know. I know. But, Dean, it still feels like I abandoned him.”

Dean heaved a sigh. “That what I did? When I joined up? Cas, if he called either of us, we would be there, no hesitation, no questions asked. But the reality is that Sam is going to be fine. Sam was always going to be fine. Hell, he took care of us most days. I made myself take my own path, and it was so hard, I knew you’d never do it on your own, so I made you do it too.”

Tears stung his eyes. “The way he looked at me, Dean…”

“Cas, did that kid ever give you any real hope that you two had a chance?”

He swallowed hard. “No. No, of course he didn’t. I don’t even think he realized I like men, let alone that I love him.”

Dean snorted. “Only one in a hundred miles that couldn’t see it. I remember the exact moment it hit Dad. I was so scared he was going to kill you in that minute.”

Castiel had never asked, was always too afraid to ask. But he made himself do it now. “Dean? Do you think...Do you think Mary knew? That I loved Sam, even back then. Did she know?”

“Mom knew. She always knew. And she liked you, Cas. You were one of her boys.”

His eyes closed, and a tear escaped to roll down his cheek. “I miss her,” he whispered. “She’s your mom. But I miss her too.”

Dean hesitated, then spoke softly. “Cas, for what it’s worth, man, I think Mom would have given you her blessing, if it made Sammy happy.”

A sad smile lit his face. “Thank you, Dean. Truly. I’m sorry that I never had the chance to make him happy.”

“One thing I’ve learned, brother, is that you can’t make someone else happy. You can just be part of why they’re able to make themselves happy. Give Sam some time. He’ll come around, and he’ll see why you left when you did. And I’ll keep checking on him. And you. Keep safe, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes closed again. “You too, my friend. You’ve got a far more dangerous life than I’ve got.”

Dean brushed this off. “Nah. I’m just following orders. It’s what I’m good at. Nobody tries to make me figure anything out. I’m a Jarhead, and that’s where I belong. You and Sammy are the smart ones, the ones the exciting stuff is going to happen to.”

It made Castiel frown, but he just sighed. “Yes. Well, I’d rather those orders didn’t include the front line again. That was far too exciting for my taste.”

“Somebody has to keep the bad guys from getting too cocky. I’d rather it was me than you or Sam. I’m expendable. But it’s like my dad always said. Sam’s going to be somebody, and I gotta look out for him. This job? Just another way of doing that. I can sleep at night knowing I did what I could to protect my family today, and I can send my brother money at the end of the month. Makes it all worth it.”

“Be careful, Dean. And sleep.”

“You too, Cas. I’m glad you’re seeing somebody. Hope he’s good to you.”

When Castiel slid back into bed, he felt sickening guilt in his stomach. This was a good man. He deserved better than a man who couldn’t stop obsessing over a ghost. In the morning, he would cut Kelvin loose, with a very sincere it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk. Kelvin was talking about bringing him home, to meet his uncle Joshua. It was all too much. It wouldn’t be fair for Castiel to let this go any further, when he knew he could never be free to love him.

Castiel liked Kelvin a great deal. Kelvin was dry and sarcastic, smart and handsome. Sex had been easy and fun, and Castiel was grateful for the company. Tears trailed onto his pillow as he listened to his lover’s steady breath. He already missed the warmth and comfort. But it wasn’t right. Kelvin deserved better than a man who couldn’t let go of someone he had never even held.

***

In one hand, he held a postcard addressed to him in Dean’s crisp capital letters, depicting a woman on a classic car. In the other, he held his acceptance letter. He stared at each in turn while gathering his courage.

He wasn’t interested in the girl on the car. But Dean’s handwriting was giving him strength. It was as though Dean had escorted his future through the postal service.

It was time to tell John he was leaving.

The man had been violently angry when Sam had brought up school last time. John had not been completely rational since Mary was alive, Sam was certain. When he had told him where he planned to apply, he was met with a barrage of questions, which weren’t truly questions at all, but accusations. Where did Sam think he was going? Who put these ideas into his head? Did this have something to do with that Cas boy? Was he still in contact with that weird artsy kid? And no, Sam would not be going to school so far away, certainly not in his first years. He could go to the community college, and maybe transfer from there. He would start out where John could keep an eye on him. He would live at home with John, and that was the end of it. Sam was clearly not ready to be on his own. He was a poor judge of character, and he was better off right where he was.

This conversation didn’t go any better. In fact, Sam realized too late how drunk his father was already, and the conversation dissolved almost immediately into a nasty fight.

Words flew back and forth, and tables were pounded by fists, and at last, John demanded to know, once and for all, if Sam was gay.

He stared at his father. “What?” he shouted. “Are you serious? That’s what this is all about? That I might be gay? That’s your big worry? All this time, that’s what we’ve been fighting about?”

“I deserve to know!”

Sam shrugged in disbelief. “Yeah, Dad. Okay. I’m gay. I mean, I like girls too, but-“

John stumbled backward. “You better be grateful your mama’s dead, boy!”

Tears burst out as his vision went red. He shoved his father hard. “Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare even think it! Not you!”

“I’m glad she didn’t live to see this! And Dean!”

“You think Mom and Dean would love me less because of this? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Dean would beat this out of you!”

Sam snarled at him. He was still skinny, but he had his father’s height now, as well as his stubborn temper, and he was not going to back down. Not yet. “You mean like you tried to beat the grief out of him when Mom died? Because he was thirteen, Dad! And he just lost his mother, and you cracked him across the face every time he cried, because you couldn’t! Because you couldn’t let yourself cry, you beat it out of him! Dean and I lost both our parents that day! And so we looked after each other. So if you think my brother wouldn’t love me like I am, you’re crazy. My mother would have. Even my father would have. It’s just you who can’t, and I don’t even know who you are. Because you haven’t been my dad since before I was ten.”

The blow across his face stunned him. He had seen it happen to Dean, and had felt it turn his stomach. He had seen his brother hiding a bruise or smiling through a cut lip in the morning, and Sam hadn’t had to ask what happened. Dean was still quick to say “Yes, sir,” and to remind Sam to do the same. He laughed it off when Sam mentioned it, and repeated the same line about how it was just John’s way of getting through Dean’s hard head. Only Castiel ever heard the whole story, and asking _him_ just got a shake of his head.

This was the first time John had slapped Sam. Unlike Dean, the younger son did not back down. His ear rang from the impact, but it didn’t matter. He was done listening to this man anyway. When his fist collided with John’s nose, Sam watched with detached, cold, academic interest as the blood sprayed out. He glowered into John’s shocked face as the man held his broken nose. “Go ahead,” he challenged. “Hit me again.”

***

Castiel was covered in paint when his phone rang. He sighed, and moved to wipe his hands clean. “Rachel? Could you please…?”

He stepped back into the room in time to hear her snapping at someone on his phone. He sighed. Rachel was a wonderful friend, and a good housemate. But she was over-protective of Castiel. It was like she thought being from a small town made him a gullible idiot that everyone would take advantage of.

“You only call him when you need something! Because you know he’s going to drop everything for you. He’s got a life, you know! A job, classes. Winchester, you call him in the middle of the night, like whatever he’s doing can’t possibly be as important as-“

“Thank you, Rachel,” he said quickly. He took his phone back. “I’ll handle this.”

She shook her head at him, then turned and stalked into her bedroom.

“Hello, Dean. I’m sorry about that.”

But the voice over the line was not Dean’s. It was softer. “It’s me, Cas.”

Any healing his heart had managed over the last nine months was destroyed as his wounds slashed open again. “Sam.”

“I’m sorry,” the young man sobbed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. Dean’s unit is on the move again, and...and I’m sorry, Cas. I miss you. You said I could call…”

He sank down onto the couch. “Of course! Of course you can! Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I know you don’t owe me anything. God, after what I said…”

“Sam? Just tell me what you need. I can be there in three hours if I don’t stop. Or is it money?”

There came a forced laugh over the line. “God, you’re so good. You’re too good. Your girlfriend is right. I haven’t called in all this time, but you’re dropping everything for me.”

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t be in that house anymore, Cas. I’m so sorry. I just can’t…”

Castiel nodded. He flew to his feet and into his bedroom to grab his shoes and wallet. “Keep talking, Sam. I’m coming to you, okay? Are you safe?” He dumped the contents of his backpack and messenger bag onto his bed, and stuffed a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and boxers into them. His hand wavered over a sketchbook, and then he tossed it and his pencils into the bag too.

He threw the bags over his shoulder, and listened as Sam wept out the whole story. He had thrown his bags into the passenger seat of his car and was about to get in when his breath caught in his throat.

“What-what does that mean?” he croaked out.

“It means my dad thinks I’m gay, Cas! He thinks...He said I should be grateful-that he was glad my mom is dead! Because she didn’t live to see this!”

Castiel’s heart was pounding, but he steeled himself and climbed into his car. He was pulling out of the apartments when he could finally speak again. “Sam, you’re not gay. You like girls.”

“So? That’s not the point!”

He let his breath out in a flinch. “Of course not. I’m sorry.” He headed for the interstate, toward his friend.

“And so what if I was? You know? I mean, does that make me a totally different person? Wouldn’t I still be his son? How can he say that?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “Sam, I’m so sorry. But I’m on my way. Three hours. I promise. Tell me where you’ll be.”

“I’m at the library, but they’re going to close in an hour. I’ll go to the diner, the place Chuck used to take us sometimes.”

“Okay. No! Wait. Sam, go to my dad’s place.”

“I did. He’s not there.”

“No, I know. But his key is.”

Sam paused. “You want me to break into your dad’s house?”

The artist rolled his eyes. “No, Sam,” he sighed, “I want you to use the spare key which is hidden to walk in, then rest till I can get to you. You know where the key is. Why didn’t you do that first thing?”

“For all I knew, Chuck hated me for being a dick to his son for nearly a year. When I realized he wasn’t home, I wasn’t going to assume it was okay to just walk in.”

“Well, it is. He’s going to be gone for most of a month. It’s convention season. Just...go get the key, okay? I’ll feel better if you’re there.”

Sam sniffed. “Yeah. I already feel better knowing you’re on your way. And...Cas?”

Castiel merged onto the highway. “Yeah?”

“You should know...I’m not gay.”

He laughed through a bitter taste in his mouth. “Yeah. I’m aware.”

“I’m bi.”

His hands stayed steady on the wheel. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. But his breath stopped completely, and he could say nothing in return.

“Anyway, I just figured you should know. I’ll see you soon.”

Castiel realized nearly a full minute later that he was still holding the silent phone to his ear.


	3. Sketchbook of Revelations

A strong but gentle hand on his forehead woke Sam from a deep and dark sleep. It brushed his hair from his swollen, red eyes, and revealed the painful bruise on his cheek. Sam tried to smile through his cut lip.

“Superman’s got nothing on you,” he muttered groggily. He knew Castiel wouldn’t understand that reference. His old friend didn’t listen to the same music he did. But it didn’t matter.

“Let’s get you to bed. Do you need anything?”

“Just to know you’re here.”

He helped Sam up, and led him to the bed he had stayed in after every fight with his father over the years. Chuck and Castiel had called the guest space Sam’s bedroom for as long as he could remember. It felt like home more than his own home did, ever since Dean left.

Sam didn’t really open his eyes. Trust in Castiel was instinctive. Castiel was there now. Nothing could touch him now. Castiel would take care of everything. It was far too easy to relinquish himself to the friend he had always leaned on. Why had he thought Castiel leaving town would mean the same as Castiel leaving Sam?

“I’ve always been here, Sam. Even when I haven’t.”

He curled into the bed where he was deposited with care. “I know. I’m sorry. I do know.”

“And I’ll be here when you wake. We’ll figure everything out then. Just rest now.”

The hand swept through his hair again, and Sam was thoroughly exhausted, but he was desperate for the contact. He reached up to hold Castiel’s hand. “It’s no wonder your girlfriend didn’t want you to drop everything for me,” he murmured. “If I were her, I’d never want to miss a night with you.”

Castiel gave a strange, shuddered sigh, but Sam was too far gone into sleep to wonder about it. He didn’t even remember what he had said. He was just grateful that his friend kept his fingers running through his hair as he slipped away again.

***

Castiel’s left hand held the phone, and his right was busy as ever, sketching. He listened to the rant on the other end of the line. “He’s here with me now, Dean. You know I’m not going to let anything happen to-“

“I will kill that man!”

“Dean, it’s your father.”

“I don’t care!” his friend roared back. “Nobody lays hands on that kid! Son of a bitch!”

The rage was making his stomach churn. Dean might have reacted less violently if he had been home. But his rational thought was completely disrupted by feeling helpless so far away from the situation.

“He needs somebody to hit, he can have it out with me. That kid hasn’t done anything wrong his whole freaking life! He don’t deserve to be knocked around like that! That man needs somebody to bust his fist on, he got me! What the hell! What the hell, Cas?”

He heard the desperation in Dean’s voice, and he felt it in his gut. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“He…” Dean’s voice choked in his throat, and he had to clear it of emotion before he could speak again. “I promised Mom. I told her, nobody was ever going to hurt that kid, because I’d look out for him. That was my job.”

“And what do you think John’s job was?”

“What?”

Castiel sighed, and lay his pencil on the table. “Dean, I’ve had it.”

“Had what?”

“I’ve had it. You’ve said these things for years, and I just can’t hear them anymore. You’re right that Sam didn’t deserve what his father did to him. The bruises will heal, and I’m willing to bet Sam left a few of his own on his way out. But that fight will hurt Sam his whole life.”

“God, I’m going to kill that man!”

“But, Dean, you defended your father since we were in middle school. Sam didn’t deserve it, and you never did either!”

Dean’s voice went cold. “That was different,” he said firmly.

“No. It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

“Don’t...Cas, don’t do this right now. It wasn’t the same. Of all people, you know that. Sam is a good kid, a smart kid, and maybe he had an attitude now and then, but he was...It was different. Dad did the best he could with me. But he could have done better by Sam. Sammy doesn’t have the same thick skull. He’s smart. There’s no reason to lay hands on him.”

“Dean, I said I’m done. I listened to this bullshit almost ten years now. I know you don’t want to hear it, but that anger you’re feeling now, that helpless, sick feeling? I felt that every time you showed up at school with your dad’s handprint on you. The only reason my dad never called the police was because he was afraid John would hunt me. We all know he never liked me.”

The voice quieted. “Chuck wanted to call the cops...on my dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course because of you!”

Dean let out his breath a little too quickly. “I guess I just always figured...I figured everybody…”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “What? That everybody thought you deserved it? You don’t believe you deserve to be saved?”

“God, Cas. I figured they all-I figured anybody who knew me knew it was what I needed in order to...They all knew I was a shit son, and a shit student, an all around shit kid. I guess I figured if anyone was calling the cops, it would be on me, not on my dad for trying to straighten me out. Without my mom there to keep me in line, it fell to my dad, and it took a heavier hand, and…”

Castiel nodded. He was so angry that he couldn’t see, but he kept his voice calm and strong. “And now you see what we all saw, because it’s Sam this time. Now you’re feeling what the rest of us felt about you. Dean, your dad’s got issues, and I respect that. But he takes them out on you and your brother, and you can see how wrong that is.”

The other end was silent.

“My friend, I’m taking care of Sam, like I always promised you I would. In return, you need to take care of you. Because you’re every bit as important as your little brother. You have always been our hero, Dean, our protector. The three of us take care of one another, and we always have. I’ve got this. I promise. You need to focus on you. And you need to deal a little bit with how your dad made you see yourself and your worth. I know there are counselors in the military. Find one. You take care of my friend, and I’ll take care of your brother.”

There was hesitation, but at last, Dean cleared his throat again. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. Now that we’re out of the hot zone, maybe...Anyway, thanks for being there. For Sam, I mean.”

A weary smile came over him now. “Always. Be well.”

He heaved a sigh as he put his phone away and looked down at his sketches. Without meaning to, he had drawn Sam’s face. He sighed again.

“Thank you for saying all that.”

Castiel turned to stare at Sam, who leaned on the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets. “You heard?”

“Everything from Chuck calling the cops. Yeah. Thank you. Dean would never hear it from me. But maybe he heard it from you.”

The young man was beautiful. He had stretched out over the past year, so that he was taller than Castiel. It looked as though he might yet grow to pass Dean too, which was fitting enough, considering the pedestal the two of them had always imagined him perched on. Somehow, the bruises and dark lip weren’t able to mar that beauty that compelled Castiel to draw him again and again without tiring.

“Cas? I’m sorry about everything. Between us. I got scared, and I snapped at you, and I shouldn’t have. I should have known you were leaving, but you weren’t going to leave me.” He took a step into the kitchen.

It sent Castiel back in a wave of memory. There were the times he and Sam had colored together on that table, while Dean laughed at Chuck’s jokes. There were the times when Mary had come to pick Sam up, and the two of them had tried to hide under the same table to prevent separation. There were moments when Chuck was absent, and they all worked on homework, or rather Sam worked on homework, and Dean cooked macaroni for them, and Castiel drew cartoons in his notebooks. There was that horrible day when Sam curled into a ball in the corner of that room, and Castiel put an arm around him while he cried for hours, when John and Dean were at the hospital, and Sam couldn’t be there to say goodbye. There were hours and hours spent at the kitchen table, drawing Sam in the middle of the night, when Chuck thought he was asleep in his room. There was the time Sam had asked for water at dinner, but Chuck had let him taste wine instead, and they had all laughed at the face he made.

There were those times, and hundreds more, and suddenly Castiel was overwhelmed. “I couldn’t leave you, Sam. You’re the best part of me.”

Sam smiled in disbelief. “Yeah? Then why did you miss my birthday, jackass?”

Castiel blinked in surprise. Then he began to smile back. “Oh. Well, Dean always said I got a free pass because I’m a flighty artist.”

“Right. I know you didn’t forget.”

“No,” he admitted. “Of course I didn’t forget.”

“God, Cas. It’s been almost a year. You need to tell me everything!” Sam leaned on his old chair at the table.

He felt the warmth from Sam’s presence, and it felt right. Sam always felt right. “I don’t know. I’m taking some art courses. Working at a library.”

Sam’s smile took on a strange look. “And...your girlfriend? Is her name Rachel?”

“Oh.” He looked down at his hands. “No, she isn’t my girlfriend. I’m not...She’s my housemate.”

“Oh! Sorry, dude. I shouldn’t have just assumed. But are you? Seeing someone? Or are you tuned out of all that stuff, like in high school?”

Castiel’s smile was more like a grimace. “Tuned out,” he repeated softly.

“Yeah. All the girls that weren’t falling over Dean were caught up in you. Even…” Sam snorted. “Even some of the guys. But-but you ignored all of them.”

“Not all.”

Sam shifted his feet. “Yeah. There was Meg. But she always called you her art project, and I never liked her.” Sam took a deep breath. “Look, Cas, are we-are we awkward now? Because you know I’m bi? Because I kind of want to go back to it being easy with you, but you seem uncomfortable. So...I’m not Dean, right? If you’re weird about this, can we just talk about it? Not pretend? We know each other so well. This is just another thing. We know everything about-“

“Sam, you thought that woman was my girlfriend!”

He took a step back. “Yeah, I…”

Castiel shook his head, and he couldn’t help staring at this beautiful stranger. “You thought Meg was trying to date me.”

“Well. Yeah. You said she was trying to get into your pants after prom. Which is insane, because most of the other guys would have killed to get in that position, but you just took her home.”

“And you never thought I might have had a reason?”

Sam was beginning to look as though he wasn’t sure if he should be in this conversation, as though he were considering backing out of it. “I just...figured it had to do with her sleeping with Luke Daemon first. You always hated that guy. Or maybe it was her abrasive personality and the way she never said a full sentence without sounding like she was imagining the other person burning in hell. Something like that.”

Castiel laughed, but it was bitter. “Yeah. Something like that.” He stood and moved toward the pantry, mostly so he could look away. “You’re hungry. I’ll make something.”

“How do you-“

“Because we know everything about each other!” he snapped. “Remember?”

He couldn’t see it; but he knew the scowl, what Dean used to call Sam’s bitchface, was there. “So you’re just pissed that I didn’t tell you this? Look, I know a bunch of your old art buddies. I know it doesn’t bother you if a guy is gay. So you’re just weirded out because it’s me? Because I didn’t ever tell you?”

At last, he turned on him. “Yes! Yes, Sam! Because you thought that Rachel was my girlfriend! Because you couldn’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to sleep with Meg! Or why she called me her fucking project! Or why I tuned out all the other girls in high school!”

Sam threw his hands up. “Why?”

“And you’re the smart one!”

“Cas-“

“I’m gay, you ass!”

Sam’s face went entirely blank, like his brain had simply shut off.

Castiel shrugged at him. “I’m gay, and I’m in love with my best friend!”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Does Dean-“

“I swear to god, if you ask me if I’m in love with Dean, I will never speak to you again.”

A slow smile took shape on that handsome face. “Wait. Me?”

“Sam, I will walk right out of this-“

A bubble of nervous laughter erupted from Sam, and the young man shook his head. “No! No, I’m so sorry! God, Cas! Are you saying I could have kissed you all this time?”

Right there in his father’s kitchen, where he had once declared as a kindergartner that he would marry Sam Winchester one day, Castiel burst into tears he had fought against their whole lives. It drained him of all his strength, and he felt himself falling.

Strong arms caught him, and held him, and it was Castiel’s turn to let someone take care of him.


	4. A Little Bit Broken

“It’s me.”

Sam’s oldest friend and first love ducked his head. “Of course it’s you,” he whispered. “Sam, it’s always been you.”

He lifted his gaze from the sketchbook, and stared at Castiel. “Why didn’t you ever show me this?”

“You know why.”

Maybe he did. Maybe he understood. But tears sparkled in his eyes anyway. “It’s been a really hard few years, Cas. Especially once Dean left. If I had known somebody...If I’d known you were thinking about me at all this past year…”

“You’re all I can ever think about. Sam, I’ve drawn you almost every day of my life. Do you understand that?”

Castiel was weeping again. They sat on the couch by the dark window, fully clothed but with freshly naked eyes and emotions. It felt like Sam was seeing him for the first time, this man who had always been there, who had been in his periphery for every event since he was four, just there, the most comforting constant of the Winchester boys’ lives. He had been there so long, Sam realized he sometimes didn’t even see him.

But Castiel had always seen Sam. He knew that now. “You just turned eighteen this month. And I may be older, but I wasn’t actually born till I met you. My life began once it had Sam Winchester in it. And I’ve been drawing you since that first day. I can’t close my eyes without seeing you. I thought for a long time that if I could just get you down on paper, I’d be free of this thing that has me around my throat. If I could just draw what you are to me, it wouldn’t have power over me anymore. I’d be free of what you do to me just by being you. And instead, I just have your face in every sketchbook I’ve ever owned.”

“Cas, I’m sorry I didn’t know. And...and I’m sorry I didn’t understand why you had to leave. Of course you had to leave.”

Trembling lips parted slowly, and a tongue darted out to wet them. “Dean made me go.”

A smear of emotion blurred his vision for an instant, making him flinch. “Dean?” A sense of betrayal began to sour his stomach. “Dean told you to leave me behind?”

Pain crossed Castiel’s eyes. “He knew how infatuated I’ve always been. And he didn’t think I would be safe if your father thought I might-“

Sam’s own eyes flashed with sudden anger. “That you might corrupt me?”

Castiel frowned down at his own hands. “Dean finally had to tell me that if John didn’t try to kill me, he’d have me brought up on stalking charges. And if I ever tried to...That he would see me charged with-with statutory…” He stood off the couch, suddenly too agitated to lie still.

“Cas…” He sat up to stare.

He took a long breath, then turned back to Sam with tears streaming endlessly down his pale cheeks. “Sam, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

So this was what a broken heart felt like, the academic part of him thought suddenly. It was the same part of him that had watched the blood gush from his father’s nose with cold detachment. This was it, that part acknowledged. This was what all the songs were about. That thing in Sam’s chest right now, that look on Castiel’s handsome face, that was a broken heart. That was familiar. It was the same thing that made Dean look like he had been slapped every time someone brought up Mary.

Castiel was desperate for Sam to understand. “Maybe Dean was wrong. Maybe that wouldn’t have happened. But do you know, can you feel, how humiliating that is? Can you imagine how sick that made me? After spending my whole life trying to just be the best friend I could be, after a whole life of trying to protect you from anything and everything, after hiding the part of me that mattered most, the part where I love you...To have Dean say that he was afraid John would try to protect you from me…”

Sam felt his own stomach turn.

“Sam, I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling different. Out of place. I’ve always been the weird kid.”

“No, Cas-“

“Of course I have. I’ve watched other people, and tried to be more normal, tried to hide behind Dean and be what I was supposed to be. And I failed every time. I’ve always felt awkward. But I never felt ashamed until last April when Dean sat me down during his visit home, and told me I had to go before John chased me off. That the moment I graduated, I needed to get out of town. A month before your seventeenth birthday, I found out that I’m a monster. That I’m sick and I can’t be trusted to be around you. Because I might hurt you. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true, that I have never and would never have touched you. If I wanted to protect you, I had to go. Because I love you too much.”

Stunned silence was all Sam could offer his friend. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Blue eyes lowered to stare at the floor in the perfect picture of ignominy. “Now you know. Dean once said that my wiring was messed up, that caring so much broke something inside me. My dad told me I was putting too much faith in someone who didn’t know what he wanted, but who had never indicated that I would ever be it. Coach Naomi once told me I must have come off the line a little bit broken, and that I was what she called the spanner in the works.”

“What does that mean?” Sam choked out hoarsely.

The bitterness in the laugh sounded completely foreign coming from a mouth Sam had daydreamed about, a mouth from which only gentle words and wise advice and dry humor had come before. “It means that I ruin everything, Sam. That I’m not just broken, but I break whatever I’m a part of. So why wouldn’t I hide myself from you, and leave you alone? Your father is wrong about me hurting you. But he might not be wrong that I’m not exactly a healthy influence. That I could never be good enough for you, no matter how much I want to be.”

Confused anger quaked inside him, but he pushed through it. He swung his legs to stamp his feet on the floor and stand. When had he gained an inch over Castiel? “Cas,” he barked suddenly. “I got into Stanford. Will you get me there?”

The blue eyes blinked. “Of course I will.”

Sam began to laugh, and everything he had been carrying in his aching heart loosened its grip with a sigh of relief. He threw his arms around Castiel and held on relentlessly until Castiel gave in and wrapped him hesitantly in his warmth. Sam’s eyes closed. “We’ve always watched out for one another, Cas. You, me and Dean. You’ve supported everything I’ve ever tried to do in my life. You’re not broken, Cas! Neither am I. We were just always meant to be one piece, and we’ll never fit anywhere apart from one another. The weird kid and the nerd freak, and their big brother the angry mess. None of us are broken. We were just made to be together. No matter how far apart we are.”

He felt Castiel’s sobbing breath.

“You just knew it before I did. That’s all. I’m the smart one, Cas. I’ll catch on fast.”

With this promise, Castiel reached up to put his long fingers into Sam’s hair, and twisted their bodies into a kiss.

And that was the moment the old front door was broken from its hinges by a brutal kick, and John Winchester stormed in through the wreckage to glower loathing into Castiel’s stare.


	5. Two Calls Away

The voice was small as ever, but it was kind. Dean closed his eyes as soon as he heard it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Gratis?”

There was a pause. Then: “Dean?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, uh, look. The connection isn’t great, and I can’t talk more than a minute.”

“Where are you?”

He cleared his throat of a desperate sob, tried to mask his emotion, let his voice deepen a little. “Too far away.”

“Dean, what’s going on?”

“Look. Mr. Gratis, I’m at Arifjan, in Kuwait. I’m-I’m too far. And Sam…”

“Dean, it’s all right. What does Sam need?”

He let out the breath he was holding and leaned heavily on the wall. He knew his CO was watching him with concern from the door, but he didn’t care. Dean was a good soldier. He just used the phone more than most, but if that was the worst thing on his review this year, he would take it. “Sir, my dad…”

Chuck’s voice cooled. “Did John hurt Sam? Dean, tell me.”

“Yes, sir. He’s at your place now, with Cas, and-Cas drove down as soon as Sam called him, and then he got a message to me to call him, and he got me the story, and...and...Sir, I love my dad. God, I’d do anything, absolutely anything, for him. But Sammy and Cas are at your place right now, and my dad...I can’t protect them from here. He’s a good man, Mr. Gratis, but-but he’s not-He hasn’t been all right since my mom died, sir, and I just don’t know what he might do. If he finds Sammy with Castiel, I just don’t know…”

Chuck sighed. “What he did to Sam. Was it about my son?”

A tear slipped down Dean’s cheek, and he hurried to swipe it away. “Maybe that’s what he thinks it’s about. It’s not, and it never has been. He’s lost without her. And…” Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight against the truth, but pushed it out through his teeth. “And when he gets scared, he needs to make somebody else scared. And, sir, I’m not there to be that for him. He can’t-can’t scare the shit out of me so he is going to look for something else. If I were there…”

“Dean, if you were there, you never would have told me any of this.”

Dean’s head fell hard against the wall behind him. “No, sir,” he agreed. “One thing the Marines never had to teach me was how to draw fire from another target. I ain’t there to draw fire from Sam now. But you can bet Cas will try. And he might beat the shit out of me, but he’ll kill your son. Please. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Chuck hummed quietly. “Fortunately, I do. Dean, one day we are going to talk about all of this. But for now...You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. And I know you’ve had a hard upbringing. But I have faith in you. When it comes down to it, you always do what you know is right. This world is safer with you in it. So protect yourself, the way you always protected that brother of yours, and my boy too.”

“Yes, sir,” he hissed. “Thank you, sir.”

His CO steadied him with a hand on each arm when he stumbled on his way out. “Easy, brother. Come on. We’re both off duty. Let’s get a beer. You need one.”

Dean smiled at him in surprise. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, sir.”

The bear of a man raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. “Naw, you ain’t. Come on, kid. Maybe not a beer. But a cup of coffee would do me some real good. And you’re hurting for somebody to talk to about something. Might as well be me. I don’t sleep much anyhow.”

Gratitude poured through him. “Thank you, sir.”

The older man shrugged. “Out here in Purgatory, where the black and white rules get grayer, you could just call me Benny when it’s just us. I never cared much about no sir.”

Dean gave him a grin, and allowed himself to be led down the path. “Yes, sir, Benny. Thank you.”

“You got it, brother.”

***

Chuck dialed a number he had saved in his phone many years back. He hadn’t used it. He had let it ring once, even twice, a few times, but always hung up before anyone picked up. But this time, he let it connect. 

“Sheriff’s office. Deputy Mills speaking.”

“Deputy Mills? This is Chuck Gratis. I was hoping you might consider a welfare check on a neighbor of mine.”

“Chuck? Writer Chuck?”

“Yes. I’m concerned about John Winchester. He drinks a lot…”

The officer snorted. “Yeah, I’ve encountered John Winchester a time or two. What’s going on?”

Chuck smiled grimly. “I just suspect he may need your help very shortly.”


	6. Special Child

Castiel had never done as he was told, not really. He didn’t even die right.

When the boy was just six months old, there had been a fire in his nursery. Chuck had awoken from a nap at his writing desk by the smell of smoke. He had torn into the room, and screamed in horror at what he saw, his wife burning above the bassinet, and a dark man standing next to the child, bleeding onto him. His wife stared lifeless from the flames, glaring at him mercilessly, demanding from death that he save her little angel.

Chuck had grabbed for the child, and the man had blinked away completely, with just a sickening smile and a wink of terrifying yellow eyes. There was no time. Chuck stole his baby from the bassinet and ran back down the stairs, out of the house, and into the street.

By then, Mary Winchester had run across the road, having seen the smoke and called the fire department. “Chuck! Give him to me! Where is she? Where is she?”

She was gone.

The last time Chuck had seen Mary, he had taken a moment to thank her for being there that awful night. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

Mary shook her head at him. “Chuck, you really should have moved from that house years ago.”

He had smiled weakly. “Maybe. But she’s there, Mary. I feel her. She watches over us in that house. Anyway, thank you for keeping an eye on Cas. It was so hard to let him start school, but he’s doing well now, and that’s due in large part to you and your boys.”

Mary had nodded quietly. “I wish you had let me help you more back then, Chuck. I feel like you and Cas disappeared into that house for four years before you came back into the sun.”

“We did. Amazing what you can get ordered right to your doorstep, huh? Groceries, books? What else did we need?”

“Friends.”

Chuck touched her hand very softly. “We needed time. And when we came back to the land of the living, you and your boys have been there every minute since. I know Cas sees you as the closest thing he’s got to a mother.” He cleared his throat. “And Cas is...He’s special. I need to keep him safe:”

“My boys look out for him.”

Chuck had stared at her for a long minute. He wanted to tell her. Wanted to bring someone in on the secret. But his therapist had advised him against that. Dr. Alastair had told him that if he wanted to protect Castiel, alienating the neighbors with his fantasies was not the way to do that. The things that he had seen that night were part of his post traumatic stress. It wasn’t real. Except that Chuck knew in his heart that it was.

Mary watched him.

At last, he smiled tightly. “I know they look out for him. And he will do the same for them.”

That was the last time he had seen Mary alive. Her accident was two weeks later, and John had sent Sam to stay the night with Chuck, just like tiny Castiel had stayed the night with Mary when his own mother had died. When his own mother had been murdered.

In childhood, Castiel had been strange. But he was a good boy, and a quiet boy, and Chuck began to think perhaps he had been unaffected by the blood of the yellow-eyed monster in his nursery. Then, when he was twelve, not long after Mary had died, the hunters had arrived at Chuck’s door.

Chuck could only hear pieces of the conversation. An angry steam whistle seemed to be blaring in his head. “I’m sorry. What? You want to see him why?”

He chose to look into the eyes of the bearded man, who seemed more paternal. The other simply seemed annoyed that Chuck was costing him time.

“Mr. Edlund-“

“That’s-that’s my pen name. It’s Gratis. It means…” Why was he talking to these men?

“Free. Yeah. Mr. Gratis, your wife Shirley passed over eleven years ago, perished in a house fire. Right?”

He swallowed. “Yes. Why do you need to know this? You said...Why would the insurance company be investigating all these years later?”

“We’re looking into cold cases like yours which may be linked to arson.”

His head was swimming. “I-I said that at the time, but no one believed me. Wiring, they said. Faulty wiring.”

The men glanced at one another. Then the bearded man took a deep breath. “Son, if you’ll tell me what you really saw that night, and I mean what really happened, I promise you my friend and I can make sense of it for you.”

So he had poured it all out over a mug of coffee that clattered in his clumsy grip. The bearded man took some notes, and the other wandered the house without bothering to ask permission.

“What’s your name really?” Chuck murmured when he had finished the story.

The man had smiled, and revealed eye crinkles that made him seem even more like a kind uncle. “I’m Bobby Singer. Up there’s my partner Rufus Turner. We’re hunters. And our buddies Bill Harvelle and Danny Elkins are scouring the official records, but I had me a feeling you might know something that wasn’t in the official story.”

“You said you would make sense of it.”

Bobby sighed, and nodded. “You had yourself a bit of a demon problem.”

Chuck stared.

“I said it would make sense, son. I didn’t say it wasn’t crazy.”

Chuck stood and went to his writing desk. Shaking hands grabbed for his bottle of whiskey. After a generous gulp from his glass, he thought to offer it to Bobby. Before long, the two hunters were sitting and drinking with him, and he had the courage to ask. “And my son? What did that thing do to my son?”

Bobby sighed a lot. He had a different sigh for everything. Most of them were for bickering with Rufus, but some, like this one, were for expressions of sympathy. “Demon blood is some potent stuff. Your boy shown any signs of being strange at all?”

He frowned suddenly. “Hunters, you said.”

Bobby let his eyes narrow. “That’s right.”

Chuck stumbled to his feet. “What exactly are you hunting?”

“Demon,” Rufus barked. “Told you that.”

“You told me the thing that killed Shirley was a demon. That isn’t what you said you were hunting.”

Bobby heaved another sigh. “Chuck, slow down.”

“No. No, you get out of my house. Leave my son alone.”

“Happy to, once we make sure he had nothing to do with the lady across the street getting reaped.”

Chuck turned to stare at Rufus with a wide mouth.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “I hate working with you, you know that?” he snapped at his partner.

“I’m a joy to be around,” Rufus shot back.

“Chuck, listen. The demon who did this, he’s dead.”

It threw him back into the couch. “Dead?” he croaked. “How-how can you kill a demon?”

“Elkins has a fun little toy that we convinced him to bring out of storage. Never you mind. Point is, we tracked him, and we killed the yellow-eyed son of a bitch. Lost a lot of good hunters doing it, but it got done. Problem ain’t him now. Now it’s these kids he’s left behind. Kids like Cas.”

Chuck’s heart began to pound. “What about them?”

“They go bad.”

Bobby turned to Rufus in exasperation. “Would you go to the car and take a nap till you ain’t a bastard no more?”

“Not likely,” he muttered, but he wandered out of the house all the same.

Chuck stared after him. “What does that mean? Go bad, what does that…”

“These kids the demon left scattered everywhere. When we killed him, it seems to have woke something up in them. And what got woke hasn’t been real pretty. One kid fried his step-mom, dad and uncle all at once when his dad took a switch to him. Another lost his temper when he found out he was adopted, and he managed to make his birth mother douse herself in gasoline and-“

“Stop! Stop! What could these horrible things possibly have to do with my son?”

Bobby shrugged sadly. “Nothing, I hope. But he fits the profile. And even though we didn't find anything supernatural about that neighbor lady’s death, there might be something in Castiel that’s waiting to come out. We aren’t going to hurt your son. Seems like he ain’t done nothing wrong. Yet. But these kids have something burning in their veins, and it manifests as something dark and powerful. I sure wouldn’t want to make him angry. There’s no way to know what might happen if he lost control.”

The hunters had warned Chuck that they would be watching. In another two days, they had left, and he hadn’t heard from them again. Over the years, he sometimes saw a face in a crowd that struck him as familiar, but by the time he could really look, they were always gone, absorbed back into the shadows. Chuck didn’t know if the hunters were watching, or if friends of the demon were watching, but he did everything he could to keep Castiel safe.

Little things began to happen now and then, usually when Castiel became frustrated by something. The time when Sam was seeing the Pond girl had been a strange and expensive period, when glass seemed to constantly break when Castiel was nearby. Chuck had to replace three windows, a clock, and most of the contents of a wine cabinet when Sam had kissed the girl and called Castiel to tell him about it. When that kid Dirk had called Sam a freak, it was oddly timed with the train tracks at the edge of town near the park being torn up by some unexplained phenomenon. Chuck had been grateful no one was injured, and he found a meditation class to help his son with impulse. Castiel had been disciplined in his meditations, and things stopped breaking so frequently.

Now, hundreds of miles away from his home, Chuck just had to pray that Castiel would be all right, and that those around him would too.


	7. The Monster and The Freak and The Madman

Castiel had often been exasperated with his father’s eccentricity. The man’s parenting had been a strange mixture of high expectations with strong consequences, and utter free will. He had rules that were hard to understand, some that made no sense at all to his son, and yet Castiel was given mostly free rein to do as he pleased. For his part, Castiel was never interested in finding trouble, so his father had nothing much to worry about.

The first time Chuck had truly been upset with his behavior was the day at the park near the old train tracks, when he had found Sam in a nasty altercation with Dirk the Jerk. Sam had tried to walk away from the fight, even after being shoved twice, but then Dirk had thrown one last word at the boy. Years of frustration from shrugging off bullies who called him freak had burst out in rage. Sam had tackled the bigger kid, and Castiel had felt a hot wrath flow through him as Dirk threw his hand into Sam’s face. If there hadn’t been a sudden explosion over by the train tracks, Castiel might have assisted Sam in making an unrecognizable smear out of Dirk. He wasn’t sure what had caused the tracks to erupt like that; no one was, but it had broken apart the fight momentarily, and that had been enough time for Castiel and Sam to calm themselves and end the battle.

Chuck had been furious. He had been so angry that Castiel had been afraid. That was why the anger management stuff had annoyed him so much. Castiel had just been protecting his friend. Chuck was the one who needed to manage his anger.

But now he was grateful for the training.

He could feel his blood boiling under his skin, and it took extreme discipline to not give in to his fury upon seeing Sam’s father tear into the house like a pit bull to save his son-the same son he had beaten mercilessly just hours ago-from the man who loved him with all his heart.

John didn’t even look at Sam. “Get away from my boy,” he snarled in that lethally quiet voice that had frightened Castiel all his life.

“Dad-“

Castiel’s rage was threatening to overthrow his ability-his fading desire-to keep it in check. “Get out of my father’s house.”

He could feel Sam looking frantically from one to the other. “Cas, please. Dad, don’t-“

He wanted to laugh. Sam was finally in the exact position Dean had been for years, trying to broker peace before two people he loved hurt one another. He even looked a little like Dean with that bruise on his face. Castiel’s hold on his temper was becoming even more tenuous as he remembered the times Dean had vented that John and Sam were constantly at one another’s throats, and it was all he could do to keep their violent anger aimed at him instead of one another.

John cut off Sam’s plea with a bark. “Sammy, you get home. I’ll handle this.”

“No! Dad, you’re not going to hit Cas!”

John’s eyes bore into Castiel’s. “No. Not so long as he gets away from my son.”

The young man refused to lower his own gaze. “Mary and Dean would want me to protect him from anyone who tried to hurt him. And Mary and Dean are two of the best people I’ve ever known. I’m not letting you hurt Sam anymore.”

“Mary?” John roared. “You think my wife would have wanted you anywhere near my son? You think she’d want you turning him into...this?”

In his periphery, he could see Sam’s flinch. It threatened to snap his last grip on his wrath. “Do I think she would want him to be loved and supported? Yeah. Yeah, I do. Maybe I knew your wife better than you did.”

The blow came faster than Castiel could see, faster than he would have even thought possible. He had seen Dean throw a punch too many times, had even been the recipient once or twice. But he had never experienced anything like the anger of John Winchester. For an instant, he was disoriented, blown back and blind.

Sam’s scream brought him back. “No!”

Castiel ducked the second blow, by instinct alone, and shoved at the weight barreling toward him. But he was an artist, and John was a mechanic, and the latter was far more solid. The air punched out of him as John threw him to the floor.

“Cas! Dad? Stop! It’s Cas!”

The last thing Castiel saw before the lights burst out and the world turned red was John whirling on his son to hit him across the face, sending Sam sprawling on the floor just like Castiel.

All the glass in the house, every window, every bulb, mirror and bowl, shattered into shards. Castiel heard none of it, saw none of it.

“You can’t hurt Sam. Not anymore. I won’t let you.” He said it quietly, in a terrifying, deep-voiced way that John Winchester had taught him to fear since childhood. He wasn’t a child any longer, and neither would he continue to be afraid of this man. He got to his feet very slowly. “You don’t scare me anymore. And I’m never going to let you hurt my friends again.”

For the first time in all the years that Castiel had been in the shadow of the Winchester family, he saw a spark of alarm in John’s eyes when he looked back at the young man who dared challenge him. But it was quickly covered by the molten fury. “What the hell did you just say to me?”

He felt Sam’s stare, but his rage was already in control now. He lifted his hand and splayed his long fingers, and let his anger swell from him and into John. A physical force blasted into the man’s chest, and threw him from his feet into the wall behind him. John screamed, and collapsed against the broken door.

Castiel took another step toward him. “You scared me,” he hissed down at John. “You scared me, and you scared Dean, and you did everything you could do to crush Sam. I won’t let you. I promised Dean and Mary, and I promised Sam.”

John roared again as the sickening crack came now from inside him. There was no more glass left to break. Now it was bone.

“Kill you!” the man swore through the pain. “I will kill you, you fucking monster!”

“Cas, what’s happening? What are you doing to him? Cas, stop!”

“Monster!” John shrieked madly. “You turned him into a monster too! I tried to save him! Now I’ll have to kill him too!”

Sam had been trying to recover his feet, but now he dropped back down to the floor to turn his stare on his father. “What?” he cried hoarsely.

Castiel’s fury stumbled at the sound of Sam’s voice. He took a deep, gasping breath, and whatever was happening around him stopped abruptly.

There was silence, but it only lasted an instant before the shouting began anew.

“You freak!” John spat. “I always knew you were some kind of freak. I will kill you both.”

“Dad!”

Cold eyes full of pain turned to Sam. “You were right before. You’re not my son. I tried to save you, Sammy. But I couldn’t. You’re just a freak like him.”

Sam scramble to his feet and put his hands out to Castiel as though approaching a wild dog. “Cas? Cas, come on, man. He’s drunk and he’s sick, and...and…”

Castiel was breathing heavily, but he was beginning to feel the fury fade. His vision, which had blurred, began to clear, and he blinked at the destruction around them. He narrowed his eyes at Sam in disorientation.

“See?” Sam was soothing. “See, listen to him. Okay? He’s slurring, Cas, and-and he doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

John was snarling behind him, but Castiel focused on Sam and held on to his voice like a lifeline. “Sam?”

“Yeah.” The younger man closed the distance between them, blocking John from Castiel’s view, until he could reach out and grab his hand.

Castiel felt his mind clearing of the fog of anger, and he took another long breath. “Sam? What did I…?”

“It’s okay, Cas. But we gotta calm down, okay? Something really bad is going to happen if we don’t.”

A searing headache nearly threw him from his feet. Pain shot through him, and it suddenly felt as though his head would split open. He groaned and stumbled back.

“Cas? Castiel?”

He could hear the man still slurring the word “freak” from where he lay broken on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, then forced them open again, and he saw everything around him differently.

John Winchester was not the enormous, imposing, hulk of a man who had intimidated him his whole life. He wasn’t all that much larger than Castiel was himself now. He could see the fear and confusion clearly now; the anger could no longer hide the pain and wild madness in John’s face. The natural intelligence couldn’t mask the paranoid psychosis anymore.

“He’s drunk, and he’s sick.” Castiel repeated Sam’s words as if he were only now hearing them.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed. Tears washed his friend’s beautiful face. “Yeah. He’s sick, Cas. And I hate how he is, but he’s just really, really sick. And what you did-He can’t hurt us now. You gotta stop now. And you...you...What are you?”

Castiel let his gaze scan the scene. Shards of glass littered the floor and furniture everywhere. He felt himself trembling, and he looked at Sam in fear. “What am I?”

“Monster,” the voice behind Sam answered, and Castiel looked at John, just in time to see him pull back the hammer of a very old Colt revolver, and fire at Castiel, directly through his son.


	8. Weapons Discharge

Jody and the rookie arrived on scene just as the windows blew out of the house. The rookie hit the ground, and Jody shielded him as well as she could as glass sprayed everywhere. They had been approaching the house, but now she grabbed for her radio at her shoulder. 

“Mills to comm! On site at the Gratis house, and there’s been an explosion of some kind coming from inside the house! Copy!”

“We copy, deputy. Backup is ten out. I’ll call city.”

She took a breath and looked into her partner’s wide eyes. “No,” she decided. “Backup in ten. Don’t pull city.”

“Copy, deputy. Comm out.”

“Probably a freaking meth lab,” she muttered to the kid after releasing her radio. “Never took the Gratis group for that kind, though.” She touched her radio again. “Comm, have the utilities on call in case we got a gas leak out here. Fire on their way?”

“Yes, deputy. Eight out.”

She took a breath. She didn’t smell gas, but sometimes you didn’t, especially after. “Eight minutes,” she growled. “That’s a long time to be on your own. Come on.”

The rookie nodded. Jody could feel him shaking, but she pretended she couldn’t. Kid wouldn’t be human if he didn’t have adrenaline pounding through him just then. 

They approached the house with weapons out but lowered. Jody was about to shout into the home, but a flare of blue light caught her voice in her throat. Then she could see through the broken windows. John Winchester was lying on the floor, and he had a revolver pointed at his own son. 

Jody knew the Winchester family. It was a small town. Jody had been in the academy when Mary Winchester had been killed in the crash, but she had been dealing with the man she left behind for years. She had just broken up a brawl at the local redneck bar between him and another hotheaded drunk not four weeks ago. The man was drunk in public anytime he was in public. And then there was Sam, the best student down at the high school, always polite and somewhat quiet, who won lots of awards for debate and academics. He was the one everybody said would go places if it weren’t for his dad. 

And now here was John aiming a gun at Sam’s back. 

“Police!” Jody shouted, raising her own weapon. “Lower-“

The shot rang through the air. 

Jody broke into a sprint, grabbing for her radio. “Weapons discharge at 401 Louden Street, intersection of Swain and Louden!”

But the scene inside the home was not at all what she expected. Her brain did not even know how to process what was going on. 

The Gratis kid had his hand raised toward John Winchester, past Sam. That hand was wavering slightly, but everything else was still and silent, as if time had stopped for an instant. Then a spray of dust exploded from the air between Sam and his father. Jody could not conceive of what had caused the tiny cloud of grit, until another bullet fired from John’s revolver. 

Instead of hitting Sam in the chest as it should have, the bullet shattered into powder before it could reach its target. 

“What the hell?” she shouted. 

The three men seemed to only then notice the two officers among them. 

She dove onto John Winchester and disarmed him without much trouble. The man screamed incoherently as she tried to get him to lie on his stomach so she could cuff him. 

The Gratis kid’s voice was deep and full of loathing. “He’s got broken ribs,” he muttered to Jody in a weirdly thoughtful way. “Several of them. And I’m not as sorry about that as I should be.”

Jody realized her partner still had a raised weapon. “Garth,” she snapped. “Radio to comm.”

He looked at her with disbelief. “Did you see what that kid just did?”

Jody turned her gaze to the tears streaming down Sam’s face. In a glance, she could see the story. Bruises and a slit lip, heartbreak and exhaustion, all written out for her to read. He was staring at his father with abject betrayal in his eyes. She would take his statement later, but she had a pretty good idea what had happened, at least the part that wasn’t completely at odds with physics. She could also see the way the other young man was standing watch protectively. 

“No,” she decided. “No. And neither did you.”

Garth blinked at her, then down at John, and back again. He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

It looked like the rookie was going to make a good officer one day.


	9. Make the Call

Chuck looked up from his notebook when he felt the shift beside him. “Hello, John.”

The large man in the hospital bed tried to clear his throat, and groaned in pain.

“Yes,” Chuck said casually, as he continued his idle sketch. “You’ve got several broken ribs.”

“Gratis, what the hell?” he growled out in his quiet, hoarse voice.

“It’s painful, but I imagine it will be nothing compared to the forced sobriety over the next few weeks.”

John gave him a severe frown. “What are you talking about?”

Chuck continued to sketch. He wasn’t nearly as good as Castiel had become. But it was nice to have something for his hands to focus on. “Mary helped me through the worst time of my life. And I would have helped you through yours, but you’re an ass, and you wouldn’t let me. Your messed up brain told you it was better to beat on the kids who adored you than to deal with anything. And last night, you tried to shoot my son through Sam’s chest.”

John hissed in his breath.

Chuck gave him a minute to recover from the gasp that put pressure on his shattered ribs. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

The voice was quiet as always, but it didn’t have the same bite it always did. “Not-not much,” he admitted. “I really fire at Sam?”

“The fact that it’s even a possibility that you got drunk and angry enough to fire a gun at your son? That’s the only proof you need that you’re sick, John.”

The dark eyes lowered.

“Yeah,” he continued. “You missed. But you shot twice at my kid while Sam was standing in front of him. Only reason we know you weren’t aiming for Sam himself is that Cas could see that you were looking at him instead. But if you had gotten that shot off, John, your son would be dead right now. My friend Mary’s son would be dead.”

There was silence.

Finally, Chuck faced him. “And that’s why when I tell you I’m checking you into a mental health facility, and that the only reason you’re not in jail right now is because I have posted your bail and got Judge Hanscum to agree to me being your advocate and mentor, you’re going to say thank you.”

John’s mouth fell open.

“Judge and I go way back. She’s made you my ward. So I’m checking you into a place called Angel’s Mission, and you’re staying there until you’re sober and safe to be around. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The large man nodded slowly. “Sounds about right.”

“But assuming you can be molded back into humanity, assuming there’s anything left of the John Winchester that Mary loved, when you get to that point, I’m going to introduce you to a man who can put your anger to good use.”

“What’s that?”

Chuck smiled. “His name is Bobby Singer. And he isn’t going to put up with any of your bullshit.”

***

When Sam hung up the phone, he tried to smile. “Probably a good thing Dean is halfway across the world.”

His friend nodded. “I feel for him, though. I know what it’s like to be helpless while family is hurting.”

Sam gave a weary sigh. “Cas, you haven’t looked me in the eye all night long. All the talking to police and your dad, and the judge and the hospital, and then Dean...Could we talk now? You and me?”

“What should I say?” It was a serious question, no matter that it seemed sardonic.

“I don’t know. I mean…”

Castiel licked at his lips. “I’m sorry I hurt your father. But I’m not sorry he’s hurt. And I’m grateful you aren’t hurt. And I’m grateful I’m not either.”

“Cas, what happened? I mean, not what we told people happened. What actually happened? My dad shot his gun; I know he did! And-and the windows, and…”

“I don’t know. But I talked to my dad for a really long time while they were looking you over at the hospital. And he said…”

“What?”

His friend bit into his lip, then sighed. “He always said I was special. Apparently, by that, he meant I was freak of nature. He said that something happened the night my mom died, that he didn’t ever tell me because I wouldn’t believe it. Well, I was in the mood to believe anything a few hours ago, after all the weird stuff that happened.”

Sam nodded encouragement to keep him talking. “So what was it?”

“Sam...your brother always said he didn’t believe in Heaven. Do you?”

He swallowed hard. “I think so. I believe in some of it. Mom always said there was an angel watching over me and Dean, and I think I always kind of wanted to believe that.”

Castiel finally let his gaze lock with Sam’s. “She was right. Dad says...God, Sam, I know this is crazy, but you saw...Dad says there was an angel in my nursery that night when my mom died. He transferred something to me, saved me from the fire. And whatever he did to me, it gave me the power to help people I love. It’s only now coming out, and he says I have to control it or it will hurt people instead, but...but, Sam, he says I’ve got angel blood in me.”

In that moment, Sam realized that he had the choice to believe or to call it all insane, and demand a more rational explanation. But he found that it wasn’t so hard to think of Castiel as an angel.

“Dad said that because I was saved by an angel, I was given the ability to be a guardian to those I love. And I gotta say, there’s nothing closer to my heart than watching over you.”

A slow smile came over Sam, and he took a step toward his friend. “Okay, so...you’re gay. You’re in love with me. You’re angelic. Anything else I should know?”

“I helped Dean cheat on his final chemistry exam.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “I knew it!” he shouted.

But Castiel was laughing. Relief poured off him in waves. “Sam, Dad and Dean and Deputy Mills all promised they would handle John, and get him the help he needs, and keep him from hurting anyone again, especially you. You’re free now. You have less than two weeks left of school. I have an exam, and a job that ends with the semester. I’m free too. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything.”

Sam knew they had a lot to figure out. It wasn’t as simple as Castiel made it sound. But, god, did Castiel make it sound good. “I want to go to school, Cas. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Would you transfer so we can be together? Because...because if you can’t...I’ll give up Stanford to go wherever you are.”

Sam’s breath caught as a burst of happiness shone blue in Castiel’s eyes. His friend reached out to hold Sam’s hands. “No, Sam,” he murmured. “No, you go where you want to be, and I’ll go with you wherever that is.”

“Stanford then!” Sam cried. Then a grim thought occurred to him. “But...we’ll still have to be apart till my graduation, won’t we? So you can take your exam and work out your job. Two weeks on my own, Dad in the hospital, and you and Dean so far.”

But Castiel simply smiled. “Sam, I’ll be just one call away. What sort of guardian angel would I be if I weren’t?”


	10. Where They Belong

It was a strange thing being in love and being lovers with one’s best friend. Sam knew him like no one else. Perhaps they had missed some key details about one another over the years, but they understood each other in ways the rest of the world didn’t.

The familiarity created challenges, however. Castiel quickly accepted that the revelations just before Sam’s graduation would be the last time he was able to surprise the man. Sam pretended to be surprised by small romantic gestures, but it wasn’t convincing when he had that smirk in his hazel eyes. On the other hand, Sam always knew his own mischief had been caught when Castiel lifted an eyebrow from across a room.

It was sometimes difficult to blend the roles of lover and friend. Castiel still tended to take Dean’s side during arguments, and Sam still called Castiel “dude” more often than “angel,” which was his chosen pet name.

Castiel’s powers sometimes manifested in odd ways. The first time they made love, their bedroom walls had cracked. That was when they discovered that Castiel also had the ability to restore broken things to their whole state if he concentrated hard enough. It had been a relief to know his powers weren’t only good for destruction. Their loss of drinking glasses seemed to be directly correlated with the level of Castiel’s stress. The night he tried to propose to Sam had been followed by the local newspaper trying to explain how every wine glass on the block near their restaurant had shattered into dust all at once. Castiel had been inconsolable about the number of minor cuts sustained by wide-eyed diners.

They met each challenge as a team, like they always had.

“Is there a doctor in the house?”

Castiel snickered at Sam’s eye roll. “Never gets old,” he teased.

Sam glared at him as he stood. “No, it does. After the first year, it definitely does.”

Dean stepped into the living room, and let the front door slam open into the wall behind him, belting out his homemade mashup, which would put Robert Palmer and Bon Jovi off their breakfast. “Doctor, doctor! Gimme the news! I got a bad case of loving you! Your love is like bad medicine! Bad medicine is what I need! Hey, Cas! Sing with me!”

“My husband would hit me with you if I did.”

Dean shrugged. “I called the witch doctor; he told me what to do! He said, call the doctor, I think I’m gonna crash! The doctor say he’s coming, but you gotta pay in cash.”

Castiel smiled at his brother-in-law. “Sam is the hard-headed man. And brutally handsome.”

“And a terrible driver,” Dean added, as he wrapped Castiel into a bear hug.

Sam sighed, then rolled his eyes again when it was his turn. “Oh good,” he said dryly. “You brought laundry.”

“‘Course I brought laundry. You think I’m going to do it at a truck stop when I could be here at Dr. Winchester’s? Where’s the beer?”

It took just an hour before the three of them were playing cards at the dining table, and sharing everything that had happened since the last time Dean was home. Castiel loved these times, when he had his lover by his side, and their big brother there too. They had all grown older, but none had grown apart from the other two.

Dean was on his third fiancée in six years, and after Cassie and Jo had gone so wrong, it was hard to believe Dean was going to cross the finish line with Lisa either, but Castiel and Sam both pretended they believed, and were prepared for the fallout just in case. Dean was still searching for Mary. No woman would ever live up to her memory, and Dean was so afraid of being what John had become that he couldn’t commit to any of them anyway. But he had his fun, and he got his heart broken when neither he nor she was what they tried to be, and then he came home where he belonged and let his brothers heal him. Then he went searching again. No matter where Dean lived or who he lived with, his home was his brothers.

“How’s Dad?” Sam inevitably asked while dealing.

Dean looked down at his cards deliberately. “He’s good. He’s away on another of those hunting trips, and he hasn’t been home in a few days. But Chuck says he heard from his buddy Bobby last night, and everything is fine.”

Sam shook his head in wonder. “Apparently all this time, Dad just needed a hobby. Who would’ve guessed he’d pick up hunting? I don’t see the appeal.”

His brother snorted. “Of course you don’t. Might chip your nails.”

Castiel tried not to smirk, but his husband noticed, and glowered.

Dean shrugged and pushed two cards back at Sam. “I don’t know. It’s probably just being in the woods and not having to worry about anything. I’m just glad he’s taking his meds. Says he’s still sober. He asked about you last time he called me.”

“What did you say?”

“Told him Cas was taking good care of you. That shut him up.”

Castiel glanced at Sam.

The younger man smiled softly. “Thanks. I’m glad you check in with him. You know? I can’t. And I know it isn’t easy. But I’m glad you do.”

Dean shrugged again, and that was the end of their conversation about their father. Castiel thought that was exactly how much these men needed to spend concerning themselves with John, and not a minute more.

Soon the laughter picked back up, and stories became light again. Sam amused them with talk of the hospital, and Castiel reported on the latest jobs he had taken, illustrating graphic novels for various age groups.

“Comic books,” Dean laughed. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re doing now.”

Castiel watched him. He wasn’t sure exactly what sort of disbelief that was. “It’s interesting work. I still do children’s books and novel cover art, but the publisher I’m working with now has me illustrating major historic events in graphic novel format. It’s become very popular. One has been picked up by a textbook publisher, to be used in a new social studies curriculum set. And we will be doing the graphic novel version of everything from Grapes of Wrath to Gatsby, to supplement literature curriculum for students.”

His friend was smiling at him warmly. “The doctor and the comic artist. I’m so proud of you two.”

There would never come a day when that phrase from Dean’s mouth didn’t make both his brothers fill to the brim with pride.

As the night wore on, Sam excused himself to get ready for bed, and Castiel watched Dean slip into his paternal role by cleaning up.

He smiled. “Dean? Did you ever, even for a moment, think we would be here one day? When we were kids, I mean.”

The man continued scrubbing dishes with his back to Castiel. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, I always hoped so. Sam was such a hard guy to pin down. I never knew if he would ever realize what was right there. I think he thought I didn’t know he was into guys. And for the most part, he wasn’t. It was just you. It was always you. But I could never be sure he’d ever do the smart thing.”

“Didn’t you ever want to tell him?”

He gave a soft snort. “What? That I thought he should knock it off with chicks and move on to the guy across the street? No. You don’t tell Sammy nothing. Surest way to kill any idea is to tell Sam that’s what he needs to do. He had to get there on his own. I’m glad he did. This is where he belongs.”

Castiel was thinking on that for a long time before Dean spoke again.

“Lisa left me two nights ago.”

He flinched violently. “God, Dean, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “But you’re not surprised. Everybody leaves, Cas. And they should. You’re sorry, but you ain’t surprised. Me, I was surprised, but I realized tonight that I ain’t that sorry.” He glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, then cleared his throat and continued his chosen chore. “Anyway, I’m done with this security job. And I wondered what you and Sam might think of me crashing here, while I pick up another one. It’s damn good money. I thought maybe I could pay the mortgage every month, and you guys just handle whatever else. You know? Hell, I wouldn’t be here most of the time anyway, with my work.”

A warmth came over Castiel as he heard anxiety in Dean’s voice. “Dean, I love that idea, and I know Sam will. Let’s talk it out over breakfast in the morning.”

Relief shone in Dean’s eyes when he turned to Castiel. “Thank you, brother. I’ll make myself useful and scarce. I promise. I just need roots, and a place to park my Baby.”

“Don’t be too scarce, Dean,” he said kindly. “We always enjoy your company.” He stood to follow his husband. “I’m going to bed now too. Make yourself at home, and if you need anything, just call for me.”

“One call away,” Dean murmured. “You’ve always been just one call away.”

Castiel smiled to himself as he continued toward the bedroom. He crept in, in case Sam was already asleep. But he found his husband sitting up and reading in bed. Apparently, he had just been giving Castiel and Dean some time alone. Castiel appreciated the gesture.

But now, Sam put his book to the side. “Hey, angel. All okay?”

“Dean would like to move in.”

Sam nodded. “I figured. Lisa checked out?”

“It seems so.”

“That’s too bad. I liked her.”

Castiel sighed. He took his time getting ready for bed, checked his phone to be sure he knew his upcoming deadlines for his artwork, and finally lay beside his husband.

The light went out, and Sam curled into him. “You okay with him living here?”

“Of course. Makes it easier for me to watch over you both.”

He could feel Sam’s smile in his embrace. “Funny. That’s probably what he thinks about us. I know it’s what I think about you two.”

“It may one day become necessary to tell Dean about my...nature.”

Sam snorted. “Nah. He can find out one night when you two get drunk together, and your beer bottles explode.”

Castiel frowned. “I’ve been far better at controlling it in the past few years. Ever since…”

“Since you got yourself so stressed about making your proposal perfect that you nearly leveled the block?”

“It was mainly just wine glasses, since that happened to be what I was holding at the time.”

Sam chuckled, and kissed the back of his lover’s neck warmly. “Okay, angel. Yes, you’ve had it under control since then. Lots of meditation. The yoga hasn’t been bad for sex either.”

He could feel his face heating. “It’s meant to keep me centered.”

“I like your center. The rest of you too.”

Castiel smiled at last. “I’d been preparing that proposal since I was five, you know.”

His husband laughed. “Chuck told that story after the ceremony, but you were too busy worrying about all the glass in the place to hear.”

“My public displays of affection tend to require first aid. I was trying to keep us all safe from our own champagne flutes.”

“Not to mention the huge windows above us,” Sam chuckled. “I remember that awful look of dread on your face when you saw the reception area. You were certain you’d kill us all if you got nervous.”

“Dean thought I kept staring at the windows because I was contemplating an escape.”

“Dude, I had never seen you so pale. You were practically gray.”

“I’m so glad my distress is what you remember of our wedding day.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

At last, he turned and smiled into Sam’s smirk. “I remember everything feeling calm and right when you kissed me. I remember my dad hugging you and over your shoulder, he told me, ‘Not bad,’ and I felt like I had finally done what I was made to do. And then Dean shook my hand and whispered that he was proud of us...As afraid as I was, it was the best day of my life up to that point. And it only got better from then. Sam, I will never stop being grateful and amazed that you are here.”

“Make love to me, angel.”

Anticipation rolled through his veins, and he pulled his lover tighter. His eyes flashed bright blue with pleasure.

It is a strange thing to be in love with one’s best friend, but Castiel could not imagine that there could ever be anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only Sam had been told his blood was angelic instead of demonic. Maybe then he could have believed more in his ability to use his powers for good. Not bad, Chuck. Not bad.


End file.
